Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [13]
“But she’s not dead,” I argued, not so eager to kill off my best friend for the sake of satisfying this bloodthirsty group.
“Do you know anyone who’s moved on to the next realm?” asked Barbella.
“Her brother died of a drug overdose when he was eighteen.”
“That is the best thing I’ve heard out of you since we’ve been here,” said Nosferatu.
“Write it from his perspective,” said the Lump.
There were nods of approval all around the room.
And Mac said, “Tch.”
I don’t think it’s fair for me to steal someone else’s tragedy for the sake of completing an assignment. This makes it very hard for me to “dig deeper and darker.” We all know that nothing really bad has ever happened to me—just take a look at my Top Trauma List. Every day, I wait for that doomsday shoe to drop on my head and crush my spirit.
If my classmates have any say in the matter, that shoe will be made by one Dr. Marten.
Until the Doc drops, what can I possibly have to write about? What made the admissions people believe that I belong here? Why didn’t I choose cross-country camp instead? Oh, that’s right. Because I suck. I broke every school distance record in my sophomore year. The only thing I’ve broken since then is my leg. I’m still waiting for the day I finally shatter my father’s dreams of NCAA glory.
But right now, limping through workouts seems preferable to this. I may be the best writer at Pineville High, but that really isn’t saying much now, is it? I just don’t have it in me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned at the New Jersey Summer Pre-College Enrichment Curriculum in Artistic Learning, it’s this: I may be SPECIAL, but I’m not all that special. Good thing I figured this out here and now instead of next year.
the twenty-first
Having lost all hope for friendship with my classmates, I’ve tried to expand my social sphere here at SPECIAL, not because I really want to but because I think it would be a good run-through for college.
Spurred by Bridget’s endorsements or—more likely—in desperate need of one more order, which would put them over the twelve-dollar Chinese delivery minimum, her acting-class buddy Ashleigh knocked on my door and invited me to dine with them. I was hungry and tired of the dining hall’s grilled-cheese sandwiches, so I accepted. Against my better judgment, mind you, because I do not like Ashleigh.
In Ashleigh, I’ve discovered a unique breed of girlie annoyingness, different from that of the Clueless Two. Manda and Sara are annoying because their whole belief system is in opposition to my own. They live by a Grand Theft Auto morality, by which lying, whoring, and stealing scores innumerable points. Manda has a compulsive need to sleep with other girls’ boyfriends, then uses pseudo-feminist arguments to justify why her actions are a fight against the patriarchy and not just an exhibition of heinous skankitude. Sara delights in spreading the word about her best friend’s misdeeds (and everyone else’s, for that matter) yet doesn’t think it’s hypocritical to get pissed when the gossipmongering exposes her own shady debaucheries.
Anyway, Ashleigh’s annoyingness manifests itself more in form than content. Meaning, her comments aren’t inherently annoying. In fact, she often says things that I’ve been thinking myself. The problem is, even Ashleigh’s most banal observations become annoying by the irritating force of her personality. She has a compulsive need to not only be right about everything, but to stake her claim as the first genius/philosopher to have ever thought that particular thought. She will argue and argue and argue until you give in to her point-of-view voodoo and see things her all-knowing way.
For example, the first time I met Ashleigh, Bridget tried to speed up the bonding process by pointing out that we are both huge fans of John Hughes’s earlier work.
“I’ve loved the Molly Ringwald movies forever,” she said. “Not just because the eighties are trendy.”
As you know, this same comment could also be applied to yours truly. But my fascination with the eighties goes way beyond John Hughes, and has long superceded